Chapter Four: Vigilant
The countryside between Thoreau's castle manor and the monastery was mostly game land and forestry; many hills, rocks, and gullies made the road wind and twist through the trees like a broad, silver snake in the moonlight. Orwen was glad that the moon was bright as he let his horse open from a trot to an easy gallop along the soft, sandy road. The noise of his steed's hooves were muffled by the damp ground, and the jingling of his tack rang through the trees. He wondered if a lone wolf or bear might hear him from its lofty outpost on one of the hills and lick its lips, contemplating an easy meal. But this thought only added to the great sense of adventure that filled Orwen as he rode. The monastery was five miles away, and his horse could easily keep up it's swift pace for the duration of the journey. Orwen looked ahead and saw where the trees opened up into the monastery's farm fields, and the road ran more direct. In the distance the flickering lights of the monastery beckoned to him. He heard the familiar bells ringing to wake the monks for their long vigil. He urged his steed onward. But his horse did not seem at ease, of a sudden, and began to slow, in spite of Orwen's prodding. "Come on!" Orwen shouted, rather petulantly. He had been enjoying himself. Swish! And a dull thud followed the noise. Was that an arrow? Orwen prodded his steed again, not waiting to look about. Robbers on the road was not a common thing, but certainly not unheard of. His steed sped ahead, but pulled up again as dark forms crawled out over the road, their drawn weapons glistening in the moonlight. "Swords?" Orwen thought aloud. The men uttered no sound, but waited for him. Orwen let his horse have its head, and held on for dear life as the animal bolted, frightened into the dark trees. The men had not expected anything so dangerous. And the few who had remained in the trees were knocked aside by the charging steed. Orwen ducked low and hoped that his horse knew where it was going. He certainly did not. After a few minutes of blind running and many changes of direction, the panting horse slowed to a halt in a small clearing. Orwen slid from the saddle and knelt, exhausted, in the tall grass. His mind spun. "Whoever those men were, they weren't there to rob me." he said to himself. A shout echoed in the trees. "Over here! More broken branches." a man's voice called. Orwen looked up and noted that muffled lanterns were being used by groups of men, spaced ten paces apart, as they walked through the trees. They were quiet except for the calls of encouragement every few yards. "He seems to be running in circles." another man said. Orwen's steed snorted. "Did you hear that?" someone called, in a half-whisper. They were looking for him! Orwen slowly stood and mounted his horse. He urged it forward a few steps, and then pulled up. With every step the tack jingled, and he noted that the lanterns were drawing closer through the dark, in a large circle around the clearing. He had no idea how many men were out there looking for him. But if he tried to bolt through the trees he was more likely to be unhorsed or to fall directly into their hands than to escape. Orwen dismounted again, very carefully, and pulled out his whip from the saddle bag. "I'm sorry." he whispered to the nervous steed, and pulling his arm back, he brought the whip down in a stinging blow against the frightened animal's rump. The horse screamed as it bolted wildly through the trees. And Orwen hoped that the noise didn't give away his plan. With the men momentarily distracted, he clambered up the nearest tree, hoping that the men were not near enough to hear his boots scrape against the bark. He moved higher and higher, until he seemed to be sheltered in the dark upper canopy. Minutes passed as Orwen tried to breath in and out ever so quietly, steadying his pulse and strengthening his shaking grip on the tree. The grass beneath his perch swished in the wind many times, sending his heart into his mouth. But each time he peered down and saw that he was still alone. Morning came. Orwen debated whether he should climb down and disappear in the dim light and mist, or if he should wait for more time to pass so that he would be certain to evade his pursuers. But after a few moments his decision was made for him. A group of men walked into the clearing with a nobleman riding next to them. The man sat straight and solidly in his saddle and wore a huge sword on his side. He spoke sternly to the men on foot around him. "He must not reach the monastery. If that happens then the bishop may write to the Chancellor and my claims to the land be revoked. We have very little time. If he isn't found dead on the road to-day then even that fat bishop might think to ask questions. He was supposed to have been robbed last night, you understand me?" "Yes, Lord Canthold." Canthold. Orwen mulled the name over in his mind. The nobleman's back was to him as he rode away, and though the name sounded familiar, Orwen was more disturbed by the way the nobleman had spoken. His voice was all wrong, but the way he had said 'to-day', separating the syllables, was uncannily like Orwen's Uncle often spoke the word. And Lord Canthold--Orwen had heard that title somehwere before. The soldiers slipped through the trees, separated into groups of three. Their boots were covered in animal skins so that they made very little noise. Orwen would have a great disadvantage in escaping with these silent killers lurking everywhere. But he had to make a decision, and make it quickly. Chapter Five: Monastery Orwen decides that he must reach the monastery at all costs. Chapter Five: Allway Orwen decides that his best bet is the small village of Allway, ten miles to the south, where the soldiers will least expect him to be.